


Tell Me Where it Hurts

by phichithamsters



Series: phichithamsters's twitter fics [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phichithamsters/pseuds/phichithamsters
Summary: Ferdinand wakes up in the infirmary, but he isn't alone.Ficlet written forFerdibert Week 8/11: Recovery.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: phichithamsters's twitter fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027525
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43
Collections: Ferdibert Week 2020





	Tell Me Where it Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title was taken from the song "Tell Me Where it Hurts" by Garbage.

Ferdinand wakes up in the infirmary. 

The sun is streaming through the curtains, dancing softly upon the white bedsheets of his cot. Ferdinand counts first his fingers, then his toes, as he is custom to do when he wakes up from battle. So far, he’s been lucky, and each time he counts to twenty. 

Soft snoring from the corner of his room snaps him from his reverie, and Ferdinand looks up to find Hubert, sitting on a wooden stool, slumped against the wall in sleep. 

He looks ragged, his clothes torn and bloodied from battle. There’s gauze wrapped thickly around his right hand, trapping his fingers together, and a bandage across his eyebrow. Ferdinand shifts to leave his bed and go to him, but the second he moves a sharp pain blooms beneath his ribcage and he lets out a hiss of breath. 

He doesn’t mean to wake Hubert, but Ferdinand watches his eyes open slowly, blinking away sleep, and he straightens his back from against the wall. 

And then he sees Ferdinand, watching him stir from the bed, and his eyes soften. His mouth goes slack with relief, and he swallows thickly. 

In an instant, however, it’s gone, and Hubert clears his throat, covering his mouth with his gloved hand. 

“Ferdinand. Good afternoon.”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand responds, slowly. “What time is it?”

Hubert shifts in his seat and digs for his pocketwatch somewhere tucked into his trouser pockets. He flips it open perfunctorily. “Just past three.”

“I see. How long was I out?” Ferdinand asks. 

“Only half the day, this time. We brought you back before dawn,” Hubert says. 

_This time,_ meaning, this isn’t the first time Ferdinand has put his life in danger on the battlefield, nor is it the first he’s been injured so badly he hasn’t woken up. 

“Thank you,” Ferdinand says. “And thank you for staying with me. You must be exhausted.”

It’s a dance, talking with Hubert. They never quite say what they mean; “You must be exhausted,” is a way to show his concern, to assess Hubert’s injuries, and an earnest “thank you” may be the closest Ferdinand gets to saying “I love you.”

“I’m fine,” Hubert replies, which means that he’s tired, but he refuses to leave Ferdinand’s side. 

“I think you should lie down, get some rest,” Ferdinand says carefully. 

Hubert pauses, but he gets the message. He stands from the stool, stretching his arms above his head, and then walks over to the infirmary cot, where Ferdinand does his best to make room in his injured state. 

It doesn’t really do much, but Hubert folds himself around Ferdinand’s body anyway, leaning his dark curls onto Ferdinand’s shoulder. 

Ferdinand tilts his head to meet Hubert’s, just to let him know he’s there, and then he gently taps the gauze on Hubert’s hand. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks gently. 

Hubert huffs. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

“I’m fine,” Ferdinand echoes, meaning he isn’t, but he will be. 

“Oh, the days I wish I were a healer,” Hubert says, and Ferdinand laughs a little, because that’s another running joke of there’s, and it makes them both smile, even if it’s mostly used on the battlefield when Ferdinand is bleeding out in Hubert’s arms. 

In those words, Hubert prays to protect Ferdinand, and apologizes for all of the times he can’t. 

“You were never any good at reason,” Ferdinand quips. 

“No, I suppose I was not,” Hubert says softly. 

And in the silence that follows, much is left unsaid and hanging in the air in front of them, thick as a curtain. Hubert tentatively lays a bandaged hand on Ferdinand’s chest, and Ferdinand covers it with his own.

Much is left unsaid, but in moments like these, Ferdinand can peer through the curtain, and there, he finds Hubert’s smiling face: arms open wide, reaching out to bring Ferdinand home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to say hi on twitter to talk about how much Ferdinand and Hubert are in love, you can find me [here.](https://twitter.com/phichithamsters)


End file.
